


A Portrait of My Love

by The Hag (hagsrus)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagsrus/pseuds/The%20Hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Tea & Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo Challenge #57(B): Picture and Immoral</p><p>August 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Portrait of My Love

"They've all buggered off to The Loving Cup," said Anson, pensively sipping his solitary beer.

"The what?" Bodie took a long swallow of his own pint.

"That place next to the big furniture shop. All electric candles and hanging plants and romantic music and fancy cocktails nobody ever heard of. They call a Bloody Mary a Bleeding Heart."

"You didn't fancy it, then?"

Anson grimaced. "I broke up with a bird there a few weeks ago."

Casually Bodie asked: "Was Doyle with them?"

Anson chuckled. "He was the reason, mate. They've got this art competition and they're judging it tonight. Fifty quid to the winner, and he said he'd treat them all if he got it. So how was Belfast this time round? Three weeks rest and relaxation, was it?"

"Bunch of thugs hijacking honest drivers, loading the car up with a bomb, drive this lot into the cop shop or wherever and your wife and kids won't get kneecapped and gutshot...."

"You sorted them out?"

"I helped." Bodie stared into his glass. "No doubt the next lot are ready to take over. Oh, and this'll make you laugh, one attack was on a nightclub, with a message next day that the place had encouraged immoral behaviour. Bombing's very moral, of course. Personal one-off, we think that was."

"Wonderful things, morals." Anson was suddenly focussed on a petite brunette. "And here's my date arriving. With luck she won't have any tonight."

Bodie drained his glass. "I'll be off then. If she gets a good look at me you'll be getting the sailor's elbow."

"Yeah, go and have a look at the portrait of Doyle's love. You can tell me who it is tomorrow. Might be that new blonde in the computer room."

"Doyle's what?" He was touched by foreboding.

But Anson was standing up to greet his lady and Bodie made himself scarce.

Had Doyle been painting some girl while he'd been away? New blonde? Somebody serious? Doyle could fall in and out of love at the drop of a crash helmet, and three weeks....

The Loving Cup's windows were decorated with paper hearts and roses, and a sign proclaimed: A Portrait of My Love. Winner Revealed Tonight.

The interior was dimly lit and crowded. The music was louder than Bodie liked, currently Love Letters in the Sand. He'd never cared for Pat Boone. He scanned hopefully for Doyle and located him in the midst of a group of about a dozen people, all familiar except for a girl who must be the new blonde. Well worth an approach, except...

Except he discovered that he only wanted to look at Doyle.

He edged through the crowd to the bar and surveyed his partner in the mirror. Same ugly mug, flattered by the dim, artful lighting into brief momentary illusions of strange beauty.

"Yes, sir?"

He ordered a lager and blinked at the price.

The new blonde seemed more interested in McCabe than in Doyle.

Doyle in a brown shirt, open at the neck, and those dull green moleskins. Doyle laughing, swigging back something in a half-pint glass. Doyle who had slept with him the night before he left for Belfast, the way they did occasionally.

Never anything serious, of course, but --

Doyle with whom he had exchanged a totally unpremeditated kiss of farewell the next morning.

Doyle who had nagged at his thoughts continually, especially at night. The memory of that lean body pressed against him, strong arms holding him close, mouth yielding yet demanding in that first ever kiss.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The music changed to Perry Como: 'There could never be a portrait of my love...'

"Ladies and gentlemen, your kind attention please for the winners of our first annual Portrait of My Love contest!"

There was a polite lull in the conversation.

"Sorry to report there were only three entries, but that means they all get a prize. We'll do better next year, okay?"

A spotlight focussed on three veiled easels on the small platform at the end of the room.

Bodie's arm was jolted violently by a man heading urgently towards the gents and lager slopped over his shirt. "Sorry, mate! Here, let me -- "

"The third prize, and the magnificent sum of ten pounds, to Ray Doyle."

A burst of cheering and whistling from Doyle's group of supporters as the covering was whipped off, followed by a burst of laughter and the voice of one of the girls, clear and distinct, "Look, it's Bodie!"

Bodie paused in his effort to fend off the mopping-up attempts, frozen with horror.

I'll kill him. Kill them all. Kill myself....

"Bodie! Bodie!" the girl was calling. Waving. "We're over here!"

A joke. All right, it's a joke. Go over and laugh.

He managed to plaster a smirk onto his lips and started towards the group, avoiding looking at the evil bastard he'd kill as soon as they were alone.

They were laughing. They were all laughing. He stretched the smirk into a mirthless grin and turned to look at the picture.

Relief enveloped him like a warm bath.

That bloody wreck of a motorbike!

"Welcome back, sunshine!" Doyle's face was all smiles. "What are you drinking?"

"Er. Lager, ta."

Bodie was swept up into the chatter of the group, still dazed and a bit weak in the knees, responding mechanically until Doyle and a couple of volunteers returned with trays of fresh drinks.

"Here." Doyle held out a half-pint of lager and a glass of whisky. "Ten quid doesn't go far with this lot, I tell you."

Bodie downed the Scotch gratefully. "Thought you must have fallen in love while I was gone."

Doyle gave him an enigmatic little smile. "You busy tonight?"

No moral worries there.

He smiled back at the gorgeous bastard he'd kiss as soon as they were alone.


End file.
